


with our hearts tied together & our feet upon the floor

by stevebuckiest



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst and Feels, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Canon Disabled Character, Chronic Pain, Domestic Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Flashbacks, Hiking, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Prosthesis, Shoes, Wakanda (Marvel), in wildly different situations, internalized ableism, so does steve but i did not explore it in depth in this specific fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29681949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevebuckiest/pseuds/stevebuckiest
Summary: The mind is a funny thing. Bucky knows this better than most. But that still didn’t stop him from wondering why that out of everything he wanted to know about this mission, this man who seemed to know Bucky better than he apparently knew himself, that what his brain would choose to bring back up is the memory of his beat up brown loafers. Nothing about who this man was or what they were. Just vague little details about days old newspapers lining the edge of his not so nice shoes, worn every day of the week except one.(alternatively, a timeline of steve and bucky tying each other’s shoes across the century ft. some angst about The Arm)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 9
Kudos: 69





	with our hearts tied together & our feet upon the floor

**Author's Note:**

> yeah yeah yeah i know. writing a fic fixated on bucky tying steve’s shoes wasnt asked for, but it is what you got. sorry! but i am notoriously self indulgent.

It’s one of the memories of Steve that first came back to him, funnily enough. Not stuff about his family, not stuff about how Steve smelled or sounded, not stuff about what kind of music he used to like or _anything_ that at first glance would seem important about the other man at all- none of that. Instead, what Bucky seemed to be stuck with was stuff about his shoes. 

The mind is a funny thing. Bucky knows this better than most. But that still didn’t stop him from wondering why that out of everything he wanted to know about this mission, this _man_ who seemed to know Bucky better than he apparently knew himself, that what his brain would choose to bring back up is the memory of his beat up brown loafers. Nothing about who this man was or what they were. Just vague little details about days old newspapers lining the edge of his not so nice shoes, worn every day of the week except one.

Over time, more memories came back. Bucky could eventually recall the name of the mother- _Sarah-_ who had made the boy- _Steve-_ line his shoes in the first place. He could remember what kind of shoes he wore himself, and how his daily ones were still better than Steve’s Sunday best. But most importantly, what he was finally able to think back on, what _finally_ gave him that answer he was looking for when wondering why Steve’s shoes were so important in the first place, was this: the memory of tying them, tying Steve’s shoes for himself. 

It took a while even after that to figure out what those echoes were supposed to mean, because Steve was close enough to Bucky’s own age that if they grew up together, tying his shoes wasn’t something Bucky would think anyone would expect. He had been smaller before, Bucky knew- or thought he did, anyways- but not so small that he couldn’t take care of that himself. He was capable. 

Considering Steve had just almost beat him in a fight, Bucky knew that fact about him best out of everything back then. 

It was the Smithsonian that finally brought it together. Not _everything_. Even now, Bucky can’t remember all that Hydra took. But seeing the Smithonian exhibit and the picture of Steve’s pre-serum body, skinny and sickly with every ailment he had listed underneath- it was enough to dredge up yet another recollection, another one of those reasons that Bucky seemed to be spending all his time searching for. 

_Scoliosis._

Things about the shoes started to make sense after that, and by the time Steve sought him out in Bucharest, Bucky had almost all of it back- memories about Steve’s bad back included. 

It had been crooked even before the doctors decided what was wrong, Bucky can remember, always seeming to cause him some of the worst of his chronic pain. He suffered from that a lot. Bucky also remembers hating it- not _him,_ never even the worst parts of him, but the fact he always seemed to be hurting and there was nothing Bucky could do. Or maybe there was- but it would be a lot of work to convince Steve to let him. Bucky loved him even back then, but he could admit he was still a stubborn jackass with a bark about as bad as his bite. 

And _bite_ was almost exactly what he did to Bucky’s head the first time he squatted down in an alley off the street and started to fix Steve’s undone laces up himself without Steve even having to ask. Because he wouldn’t have. Hence the protesting that had him puffed up and fuming before Bucky could even get back on his feet. 

“What the hell, Buck. You forget I’m not one of your kid sisters?” His scowl had Bucky stinging worse than the smack laid to his shoulder. “I can tie my own damn shoes. Didn’t need a dad to learn _that_ one on my own.” He was defensive, and Bucky was well aware why. It had been just last week that Bucky taught him how to properly tie a tie for a double date when Sarah was away at work. 

This wasn’t about that, though, not anywhere near it. Bucky knew he could tie his own shoes- could well before they met, considering that was when they were about twelve and thirteen respective. What it _was_ about… he wasn’t sure Steve would like that much either, but it was better to make him mad now than let him stew in it until later. 

Bucky had just shaken his head and hauled Steve back out to the main strip so they could start walking again without him falling victim to one of Steve’s box lined brawls. “Sure hope you’re not or what we got up to last night is gonna be real awkward,” he’d said, just so Steve’s beet red face would be more from a blush than bluster. It had been a different kind of first time than just tying shoes. “I know you can. I just felt like doing it myself is all.”

“You’re crazy,” Steve griped, glaring like Bucky’d tied up more than just his laces. Christ, he could be a drama queen, it wasn’t like he was being kept hostage. “You don’t gotta hold my hand through everything now just because we’re-“ He couldn’t have finished that sentence with so many people around, so Bucky had cut him off with an exasperated interruption instead.

“Jesus, Stevie. It took two seconds and it’s over, I won’t do it again if it’s that big of a deal.” They were almost done walking, so the discussion had ended with the start of their descent down the steps to Bucky’s parent’s place where Steve was coming over for dinner, Sarah stuck picking up the late shift as usual. 

For once, Steve didn’t reply with anything but a sniff and jerked out nod. Bucky had just sighed internally. So much for that little endeavor. But if Steve didn’t want him to do it again, he wouldn’t. 

Or, well. He wasn’t going to. Until he _did_.

In his defense, he truthfully wasn’t planning on it after the protest he’d received the first time, but unfortunately for Steve, the scoliosis and stubbornness didn’t communicate as well as he and Bucky did about things they didn’t want to happen. If they had, Steve wouldn’t have been hurting as bad as he was when Bucky went to go walk him home from work during his own walk back from a shift on the docks.

He had finally been allowed to go earn wages down there now that he was eighteen, but at seventeen and sick, Steve was still stuck stocking the shelves at the grocers where the pain took more than the pay gave. It had been hard on him, having to spend his days bending up and down, stretching and straining muscles that weren’t meant to do that even on a good day. But they had just graduated, and graduating meant getting a job, and getting a job meant for Steve taking whatever was given. Because people had never liked to give him much. Most times and most people, not even a chance. 

That second time with his shoes, Bucky can remember practically recoiling at the sight of Steve wincing while he had to bend and bring his arms back around to untie the strings of his uniform’s apron. He’d rushed over to him, but Steve had just held out a hand and shook his head like he seemed to do every time Bucky tried to help. 

“I’m okay,” he’d said, teeth gritted. “We just got a new shipment today. Took it out of my back.” Like Bucky couldn’t see that. He couldn’t even stand up straight, hardly. “Once I get home and lay down for a bit, I’ll be fine.”

Fighting over stupid stuff was more Steve’s suit, so Bucky had just sucked air in through his teeth to hold back the fussing that wanted to fall out of his mouth. He hadn’t been planning on saying anything else, but that was until he spotted something Steve hadn’t. He tipped his head down. “Your shoe is untied.”

For all that Steve had been so obviously trying to stay strong, once he caught sight of what Bucky pointed out, he looked like he wanted to cry at the thought of having to bend back down even one more time. So, bearing that in mind while shoving several other things away, Bucky had taken matters into his own hands. Literally, once he stooped down and did up the laces himself. 

Luckily they had been in the back room, nobody around to see. That was probably why Steve hadn’t put up as much of a fight, though maybe it was the fatigue as well. Either way, he hadn’t had much to say besides a sigh and quiet mutter of “Ma says you can stay for supper, if you want. Think she made soda bread.”

Bucky’d nodded, not wanting Steve to hurt alone any more than he’d already had to, or hurt at _all_ when he didn’t have to. Hence the shoe tying. “How about we pick her some flowers up on the way? I got paid today and God knows she deserves something pretty if the two of us are what’s coming home to her.” He’d been trying to lighten the mood, and Steve’s tired laugh had let him know he succeeded at least a little. “C’mon, lover boy.”

The walk home after hadn’t involved a word about what had just happened.

But later, when they were both reading in Steve’s room after dinner was done, Steve had set his comic down and given Bucky a careful look. “You know, you don’t _have_ to take care of me like that. Help me tie my shoes and whatever.” His voice was quieter than usual. 

Bucky had just sighed, knowing this was coming after the complaining hadn’t earlier. He made sure his words were chosen just as carefully. “I don’t have to. I _want_ to. Takes no skin off my back to help keep yours from hurting.” He’d poked Steved in the side with a socked foot where he was propped up on the other end of the bed. Then, because the door was closed and they weren’t in much danger of being caught, “You’re my best guy. I get to be sweet on you. That’s what sweethearts _do_ , dumbass.”

“And it’s sweet to call me dumb?” Steve’s smile was small, but it had been present enough for Bucky to poke him again before tossing his book to the side and crawling up the bed until he had Steve pressed into the pillows, sure to be mindful of the smaller boy’s back. 

“Aw, sugar,” he’d said, quiet enough to be a coo that had Steve wrinkling up his nose. Fair enough. Bucky had washed up before they ate, but he was still fresh off work and feeling sort of sweaty, so that didn’t do wonders for how he smelled sometimes. “Don’t be sore at me. I’ll make it up to you.” After that they’d kissed and Bucky had made sure that being mad about Bucky tying his shoe became a thought that was the furthest from Steve's mind. 

It became a habit faster than Bucky meant it to following the first two times. Steve still complained about it as often as he could, still protested plenty- but every time, Bucky just shut him up with all the kisses he could spare and claims that “You’d be complaining even more about your back aching later, so let me love on you. I’m not coddling you, jackass. If anything I’m doing this for _myself_ to keep from having to hear you yap your trap ‘til next month.” 

That was always a partial lie. Taking care of him has always been for them both and they knew it. They still know it, even if Steve sometimes needs a reminder. For all that Bucky now remembers, there are occasions where he needs the reminders too. But that’s normal, apparently, or at least that’s what his therapist says. The mental kind, anyways. His physical one doesn’t say much on that subject at all. 

If anyone between them ever needed more than one doctor, it always used to be Steve, but as things are nowadays… Bucky’s body has a few more problems left over from what the serum was able to solve. Namely caused by the parts of his body that are no longer there at all- the arm, he means. Not much else he could be talking about.

It’s still hard getting used to going about his days without it sometimes. Getting his mind back was a milestone unto itself- giving up the arm had been something else entirely. Or not _giving up,_ he guesses. Getting it torn off would be the better descriptor. His brain might be balanced now (for the most part) but his body definitely is not. No one at Hydra had ever really given him room to learn how to function without less than two fucking arms, so getting tossed into it so suddenly has been kind of awful, even if he has Steve sticking by his side to help him through it. 

They’ve been in Wakanda nearly six weeks now, only three of which Bucky has spent woken up. He’s still learning how to navigate daily life and do basic tasks- both things which involve him and his recently reunited boyfriend to a pretty high degree, that second part with suggestiveness intended. Sex might not be a basic task, but for them, it’s a pretty basic need. Natural. Not they’ve done any of that since the night before he went under- opportunities haven’t exactly been plentiful for them. Ever, if he actually thinks about it. 

But Bucky’s not sure how successful he’ll be at all that business anymore considering he can’t even _button his own damn pants_ right now. 

If he weren’t a grown man, he’d be pitching a fit, but as things are he settles for a growl and grumbles under his breath instead as Steve idly watches him hold onto the waistband so hard he almost rips open the inseam. Both their mothers would probably wash his mouth out with soap for how much swearing he’s doing, but he doesn’t care enough to dwell on that currently. He’s _frustrated_. He might as well never be able to wear anything but sweats again.

Steve, ever the helpful bastard, watches him try to unsuccessfully slip the button through once again. He shifts on the bed to sit up, long legs criss cross applesauce like they’re kids again in Sunday school. “Maybe you should try the snap kind. It might be easier.” He chews his lip thoughtfully. “They’re pretty popular on jeans.”

Bucky loves him to death, but part of him wants to scream. He takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes so he can calm a little before choosing an answer. “They sell those and you only think to tell me that _now_?”

Catching sight of Bucky’s unimpressed expression, Steve winces and tucks both hands under his calves against the mattress. “I guess I thought you already knew.” No, Bucky did not know. Fashion favorites of the 21st century haven't exactly been something he’s spent much time learning about. Steve speaks again, voice small in only the way Bucky ever hears it, “Sorry.”

Bucky sighs and lets up for a second, off both Steve and the button. He doesn’t need to take this out on Steve. “It’s fine. I’m just getting tired of not being able to wear anything but those damn white sweats.” He scrubs the only hand he still has left over his face, beard scratching where he can’t use a shaver to trim it. “Makes me feel like I’m in a mental institution.” He might need to be soon. This stupid button is driving him nuts. 

The grey jeans he’s trying to put on in place of the aforementioned white sweats are one of two pairs of pants that he himself owns among all of his paltry belongings. He has the black uniform pants he’d worn at the airport stored somewhere, but since those had been what he was wearing when he got his arm torn off in the first place, he decided to stick with the first option instead. They’re a little ill fitting, but not the worst. Or they wouldn’t be, if he could stop fucking fumbling with them. 

Having one arm sucks. But still… he’s not sure he’s ready for the stress that getting a new prosthesis would require, even one not soldered onto him by Nazis trying to engineer him into the world’s second super soldier. And he can’t just sulk around in sweats until he is, so he sighs, and gives Steve a sideways look through a lock of hair that’s fallen out of the half bun he’d managed to pull together prior to attempting to dress. “What do you say about helping to get me in my pants instead of me trying to get in yours for once, huh, stud?”

Steve’s rolling off the bed and bounding over within the next beat, hands already outstretched. Ever the helpful bastard, just like Bucky said. “Sure, Buck.” His own fingers fumble a bit when Bucky uses the closer proximity to lay a hand on the back of his neck, both of them looking down between them to watch him finally button up Bucky’s jeans over his boxers. 

Bucky sighs, annoyed and appreciative in equal measures. He squeezes Steve’s neck, needing at least some amount of control over the situation to settle his mind back down. Grounding, his therapist calls it, but casual touch is really just something he’s _always_ shared with Steve. So is the pet name that slips out next. “Thanks, babydoll.”

Steve hums and raises his head enough for Bucky to see his lips pursed out for a kiss. He gives it to him, quick and sweet. “No problem.” 

That’s only true for one of them, Bucky thinks bitterly. It’d been a pretty big problem for _him._ But then again, everything seems to be nowadays. He knows he’s still learning how to live under these different conditions, and healing is slow going even for the best of them, but it’s still rotten luck having to live like _this_. He knows he’s safe here in Wakanda, and is infinitely grateful for the kindness they’ve shown since his arrival, but even then- he feels off balance in more than just the bodily sense. 

He went from being arguably the world’s most deadly killer to an off kilter amputee who can’t do up his pants without asking his boyfriend for help. There’s irony there somewhere. Bucky doesn’t care to find it. 

He focuses on feeling Steve pressed against him instead, hand sliding down from his neck to grip at his ass instead through the back of his own jeans. Blue, Bucky notes. Blue and a lot better fitting than Bucky’s. He digs his fingers in tighter, and the touch makes Steve sigh right up against his skin where his head is half tucked against the side of his neck. 

Maybe grounding is a good technique to try after all, because after taking it all in- the sights, the sounds, the feelings, even the smell of Steve’s shampoo still sweet on his scalp- Bucky feels a bit better than before. He inhales deeply and blows it out into blonde hair, Steve huffing up against him in return. 

“Got any appointments?” he murmurs, stepping back and straightening up. 

Bucky blinks, for a second still not used to the fact Steve can do that so easily. After Bucky’s own serum, they’re essentially the same height, but Steve is thinner and somehow Bucky thinks it makes him appear a tiny bit taller. He tugs the edge of his shirt down over his waistband and shakes his head. “No, figured I’d let them take the day off for once.” At Steve’s look, he rolls his eyes and shrugs both shoulders best he can. “I’m pretty much getting this all for free, pal. Seemed like the proper thing to do. They have other patients, people to tend to that are actually their own.”

Steve understands the concept of feeling like an outsider better than most, but somehow still manages to look slightly unhappy even as he’s nodding. “So what were you thinking of doing today then?” He sounds hopeful. 

Bucky’s always happy to hear that back in his voice- he didn’t sound to have much of that in him when Bucky wasn’t around, and hope is something Bucky misses having half the time himself. But still, he narrows his eyes in slight suspicion. Steve is trying to plan something, the punk. “What is it you’re _wanting_ me to do today?” he asks, flicking Steve’s nose when he tries to play fickle with it. “C’mon. Your tricks don’t work on me. Out with it, Steven.”

Steve scowls at the use of his given name and smacks his hand away, but gives Bucky the answer he was after. “I was gonna ask if we could go on a walk. We haven’t been out much.” This time, when Bucky looks at him, it’s his turn to shrug two broad shoulders with a blush spreading down steady to meet them under the collar of his shirt. He’s never been good at asking for things, shies away still even after all this time no matter how small they are. “We never got to sightsee much in Europe. Why make the same mistake now, right?”

“Right.” Really, Bucky knows he _is_ right. 

They’d spend the better part of almost two years together over there in varying locations. Italy, France, England, the goddamn Alps- and they’d truly seen almost none of it in situations not marked by shooting and smoke. That was expected, though. Hell, they were at war, not on a world tour. But here in Wakanda, with war nowhere near, maybe it’s time for a change. It truly is beautiful from what Bucky has seen from the windows, and he _is_ a little tired from being trapped of his own accord. There’s just one thing stopping him, though. 

He tells Steve about it with a wry smile. “Think you can help me switch shoes, then?”

Steve tilts his head, not seeming to get it for a moment. And then- “Oh!” Bucky snorts. He’s not exactly dazzled at the fact he has to ask for help getting dressed _again_ within the same ten minute span, but Steve’s too damn cute for his own good half the time. 

The shoes Bucky wears around Shuri’s lab (which leads to where he and Steve are quartered on the upper level) are meant to be easily slipped on and off so that whatever the doctors ask him to do can- upon agreement, of course- be done efficiently without having to go through the trouble of tying and untying them every time. Not that he can do that having only one hand, or at least with what he’s learned so far. 

They’d offered him velcro options that could be worn on more types of terrain. He’d been very adamant about saying no, and he’s still not completely sure why. Pride, maybe. On his bad days, that’s all he seems to have left besides the pain, or at least that and the man currently standing right in front of him. 

Steve coughs, and Bucky refocuses on him. He must have gotten caught up in his own head again. He shakes it off, and tries once again to smile. A bit of fresh air will probably do him some good, especially if they’re far from crowds of people- Bucky’s capable of being in them having made his own way in Bucharest, but capability doesn’t equal comfort. “My boots are in the closet, if you’d be a doll and go get them, please.” He looks down and wiggles his toes where Steve can still see them. “I think socks are one thing I can manage on my own.”

The blonde nods and turns to do as directed, returning after a few minutes to where Bucky is now sitting on the edge of the bed, both feet covered in the standard issue Wakandan Medical socks. They’re bland, but they’re soft. Bucky sort of likes them. 

What he likes even _more_ is the sight of Steve getting on his knees in front of him, golden hair all he can see as the younger lowers his head to start loosening up a black boot so Bucky can step in it. Bucky could probably do this part on his own, and it’s not a sexual position, not really, but who is Bucky to not enjoy the implications when Steve’s on the ground looking so blatantly adoring? It’s sweet. A silver lining to a shitty part of his current situation. 

He reaches out with his hand and tugs on a strand of Steve’s hair just because he can, and it’s Steve looking up and glaring that gets the light of a memory to dawn on his mind. He’s seen this look before, but the last time he was in a situation similar to this- he’s pretty sure that where they were standing (or sitting, whatever) had been switched around. 

He doesn’t keep much to himself in terms of memories shared with Steve, at least from the other man. This moment is no different. “You remember when I used to do this for you?” It’s a stupid way to word the question considering he’s the one with the slippery slope of a mind when it comes to that, but asking is good, he’s come to find. Asking means he cares, means he can have an answer. Asking means he isn’t the Asset. 

Steve doesn’t seem put off by the phrasing. He just nods, eyes softening from the stare he’d been giving Bucky for messing with his hair. Takes him a good bit of time to blow dry it to swoop up like that, Bucky knows. “Yeah, I do,” he says quietly, bracing the shoe so Bucky’s socked foot can shove inside before starting to lovingly do up the laces. “Drove me crazy at first.”

“Yeah?” Bucky murmurs back, equally as quiet. They don’t have to be. Their quarters are soundproofed, but something about what they’re sharing feels like it calls for them to be soft anyways. “Well, lemme tell you something, sweetheart. You _always_ drive me crazy.”

Steve snorts and starts to work on the other shoe as Bucky smooths a hand through his hair up above him. “Yeah?”

“Have since we were kids.” He takes the hand Steve holds out so they can both stand, waiting by the window while Steve slips into his own sneakers. Soon enough, he’s ready to go, and it only takes a few seconds to start stepping out the door. 

Steve helping put his shoes on stirs up another memory, one that Bucky starts to reminisce on while they make their way down to where they can exit the palace. Steve isn’t a huge fan of elevators anymore. Bucky doesn’t have to wonder why. 

Part of getting Steve to let Bucky take some of the burden off of his already bad back was letting him make up with it with some of his own silent “I can help too” stubbornness. That was a task most often accomplished by Steve begrudgingly shining his shoes. Almost every other Sunday, if Bucky’s memory serves him right, but that’s a hit or miss sometimes these days. 

Pride is something that’s always been a pretty big part of him- that’s the perks of everything coming natural to you growing up, he knows now. He’d always been pretty popular, pretty polished, well rounded, well dressed. Even _after_ the Depression hit. 

Nowadays, a messy man bun and half washed face is about all he can handle, but back then, he’d been meticulous with his grooming well before the military made a proper man of him. Walking down the street, face freshly shaved, hair slicked back, in a pinstripe suit and his Sunday shoes… well, maybe it was more of a _strut_ than a walk, but that’s all semantics, and he was shallow enough to let it show sometimes. All that mattered was that he felt his best when he was well dressed, and dusty shoes didn’t exactly fit that bill, did they?

He’d shone them himself from age sixteen on up with the kit he got for Christmas, but at eighteen years old when he came home from work one evening and found that Steve taken on the task himself with the shoes he’d left at the Rogers’ after Mass last weekend, he hadn’t known what to think. He chalked it up to luck, that time. Looked like Steve was feeling nice, and Bucky wasn’t about to argue against him being a little lovey-dovey. His sweetheart, who sometimes had trouble showing that he was sweet. 

The second time, though- Bucky began wondering if it was a coincidence or not. Steve had never done this before they started dating, for lack of a better word, but here he was doing it two times in less than three weeks now that they were. Bucky’d never seen the boy so much as shine his _own_ shoes before. He didn’t even have proof to think that he really even knew _how_. The Rogers had bigger things to worry about than whether or not their shoes looked a little rough.

It was when Bucky saw he still didn’t shine his shoes after that that he knew, or at least started to suspect. Steve was doing this, shining Bucky’s shoes like a kid trying to earn a dime on the street, on purpose. As some kind of service, in exchange for a good that Bucky wasn’t sure of what he was giving. Bucky had started leaving his loafers in Steve’s bedroom on a regular basis just to test his theory. 

Eventually he figured it out, though, ironically after a fight they had on a Friday night where Steve was supposed to be spending the weekend the way he usually did, sleeping over on the couch cushions on Bucky’s bedroom floor. Usually he migrated as some point up to the mattress, but they made sure to always be careful about that. The Barnes were a big family, and the Lord knows Bucky’s little sisters didn’t learn how to be nosy from nowhere.

It had been a real knockout, Becca barging in to see the two of them snapping at each other over something stupid- Steve wanting to sneak out and smoke one of Bucky’s Lucky Strikes on the fire escape, he thinks. After having an asthma attack only hours before no less, the knucklehead. 

She’d huffed, obviously trying to sleep. They were lucky Winifred and George weren’t home from their date night at the movies yet, otherwise Becca being annoyed would be the least of their troubles. “You two are like an old married couple. Keep it _quiet_ , please.” For someone so concerned with _quiet,_ she sure had slammed the door loud as hell after. 

Bucky had whirled to Steve as soon as it was shut. “Be glad we aren’t, because if we _were_ married, man, you’d be sleeping on the sofa.” The remark was hissed, more out of concerns over volume than vindication. 

Steve chose to go with a scoff himself. “I’m already sleeping on your couch cushions, Barnes. Can’t get much worse than that.”

His temper got the best of him when his next words came out. “Well, then why don’t you just go back home then? Since you’re having such a rotten time tonight?” He could see that stung Steve more than he wanted to let on. It had almost been enough for him to stop, to say _sorry,_ but before he could, Steve was spitting out an answer. 

“See if I ever shine your shoes again!”

Bucky had been taken aback, blinking at the barb without it sinking in, because… what? He had asked Steve as much. “What?” The blonde had floundered like a fish, face turning red while Bucky waited for his reaction. When it didn’t come verbally, he asked again, slower the second time around. “So you _have_ been doing it on purpose.”

There was a long beat of silence. Then, shoulders hunched up, tone sheepish and slightly sarcastic, “I don’t think you can shine shoes on accident.”

“I guess you can’t,” Bucky’d said carefully. He’d almost pressed on, _Care to tell me why?_ itching to come off the tip of his tongue. 

But something in Steve’s face was already so uncomfortable, borderline _afraid,_ that he hadn’t. Steve’s love language was something he was getting more used to hearing, and it most likely wouldn’t help if he had to drag it out. Steve was never good with being a sap out loud. Bucky liked to let him think he was subtle. 

So he hadn’t pushed the other boy any further. He’d sighed and held out his arms instead. “C’mere, punk.” Even after petty bickering, Bucky didn’t have the heart to let him stay so dejected. Still defensive, Steve had hesitated, but soon enough he was letting Bucky pull him in for a hug, a soft “I’m sorry” being whispered into his hair. 

He hadn't spoken, but the silent squeeze was enough for Bucky to pick up on the meaning. _Me too._

Nothing else about the shoe-shining had been said after that. Not until Sarah’s funeral, a year and some months later after the summer had faded and the sickness swept her away. 

Bucky had been trying so hard to find something- the _right_ thing- to say as Steve made his way back to his now empty home after the service, Bucky sticking as close to his side as the other boy wanted to allow. 

He’d only been half joking when he said it, trying to be a dick at the same time he was feeling desperate for Steve not to push him away. “ We could put the couch cushions on the floor, like when we were kids.” That was a line meant to tease how Steve had finally turned eighteen just four months ago. “It’ll be fun, all you gonna do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash.” _Let me take care of you_ had gone unspoken, but they were what words Bucky was really aching to say. 

Steve had protested, of course he had. But when Bucky followed up the offer with the words he knew Steve _would_ allow- _Because I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal-_ his watery smile had let Bucky know something inside him had been worn down enough to let Bucky do what they both needed to be done. 

Taking care of him- of _each other-_ has always been for them both. That time was no exception. Tying his shoes or offering him a place to stay, it was all the same. It still is. He thinks it’s sort of a testament to who they are, in a way. Subtle gestures of Bucky taking care and Steve giving back. A lot has changed, but they’re still the same way they always were, even if the people they are are a bit different. 

Bucky’s currently only got one hand to hold him with, but Steve’s heart’s still safe in it nonetheless. Besides, he can still get Steve tongue tied and coming undone even without his shoes in the picture. Part of the perks being with someone so easily flustered.

He gets to helping Steve get there right now, sliding his hand into the back pocket of the blue jeans he’d directed his earlier attention to and squeezing slightly as they walk down the main strip to where the palace gates lead to what Steve says is the garden. The outdoor one, at least. 

Steve doesn’t say anything, but his slightly exasperated sigh and shy expression at the PDA they still aren’t used to being able to show shines through. “You gonna quit being indecent and at least pretend to be interested in all our sights to see?”

Bucky just squeezes again and laughs, eyes catching sight of his boots when he bows his head down and bumps their hips together, holding onto Steve helping to keep him balanced. “I can be interested in more than one thing, sunshine. Called multitasking. ‘S’what I was trained to do.” He sees Steve’s slightly shuttered expression and is quick to clarify exactly which type of _training_ he means. “Sniper, remember?”

“Best one the Allies had on their side that side of the sea,” Steve says, settling back down enough to let the tension drop. “Hell of a second in command, too.”

Bucky snorts and brings his hand up to throw his arm around Steve’s shoulders as they start stepping into the garden grounds. “Is that all I am to you, mon Capitaine?” he replies drily, using the residual French he has left in mind to mimic the name that Steve must remember Dernier used to always call him. “I figured I’d made a more lasting impression on you by now.” He squints when Steve just rolls his eyes. “See if I help when you trip and fall now that no one with both arms is around to tie your shoes.”

It’s a joke, half hearted at best, but Steve still huffs out loud enough for it to be a laugh. “My back’s not as bad as it used to be. I think I can take care of it myself.” Then, turning to look at the acacia tree in the center of the garden courtyard they’d almost missed while talking, he points. “I wish I had my sketchbook with me. Trees like that sure don’t grow in Brooklyn.”

Bucky watches him with a small smile and thinks to himself that he doesn’t need both arms to necessarily be balanced. Being with Steve helps balance him out enough. “We can come back sometime soon, if you want. Or you can come out here alone if I’m at an appointment.” He kisses his cheek, beard catching on bits of blonde when he pulls away. “You don’t have to go with me to all of them anymore, I don’t think.”

“I’ll go to however many you want,” Steve answers honestly. They’re walking in step now, of the same mind even in movement. “But if you _don’t_ want me to…”

Sighing, Bucky shakes his head and scuffs his feet on the next step he takes. “What I _want_ is for you to not put your life on hold just because I’m still learning to live mine.” He squeezes Steve’s shoulder with the arm still slung around him. “I’m glad you’ve decided to stick around a while and stay, but I’m still figuring out how to function without the arm. There’s only so much you can do to help.”

“You tell me what I can do and whatever it is… I’ll do it,” Steve says quietly. He’s always wanted to help, even before he became Captain America. Sometimes Bucky thinks people forget that Steve sought out to be a soldier, not a superhero. Because that’s how Steve shows his love, his devotion- through acts of service, military mandated or otherwise. 

Bucky should know that best. Steve’s never shone anyone’s shoes but his. 

He pulls him closer and points out a couple of plants of his own. “We’re supposed to be taking in the scenery, Stevie. Let’s save all the serious talk for later, yeah?” Steve lets him change the subject to something lighter, at least, even if it is with a frown that only fades when Bucky points out a bush and stage whispers “It looks like when my Ma tried to wave her hair and got it wet too soon.”

He laughs, and leans into Bucky, snug between his shoulder and side. His smile is shining brighter than Bucky’s shoes ever did. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me anyways.”

“I do.”

“I know.” And it’s nice to be certain, Bucky thinks, that of all the things he’s had to relearn how to do, loving Steve isn’t one of them. 

-

About two weeks later, when Bucky has just now learned his lesson on how to hold a gun- again, because with one hand, it’s impossibly harder no matter how strong the serum makes him- that sentiment is much less sappy. In fact, it’s starting to make him a little bit sad. Relearning everything is a little bit of a rough ride. His therapists, plural, hadn’t thought wielding weapons was healthy to his healing until he explained he _had_ to feel able to protect himself otherwise he would be too occupied with the paranoia to practice anything helpful to his health.

When Shuri approaches him after a session that was only sixty minutes but felt like sixty _hours,_ he’s hurting a bit more than just the physical sense. It doesn’t help that Steve isn’t here, a fact that sucks but is ultimately Bucky’s fault since he was the one who persuaded him to stop coming along so often. All things considered, though, once Shuri starts talking to him- he starts thinking maybe it’s a good thing the other man isn’t here. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” she chirps, coming over to stand by where he’s still shaking out the soreness from his hand. Her own are clasped in front of her. “I’ve come to speak with you about something important.”

He smiles at her politely and tips his head towards her. She’s a good kid. He likes her from what little time he’s had to get to know her. She reminds him of Becks a bit, though maybe he’s just projecting. “What would that be, Princess?”

She’s not one to beat around the bush. That’s one of the reasons Bucky likes her. “I know that you have refused our offers for attaching a new arm.” Bucky doesn’t know if _refused_ is really the word- it almost makes him feel _rude_ , but her next words don’t let him worry about that for very long. “But we don’t have to work in extremes here. And _I_ have been working on an update to that horrible old machinery you were stuck with.” She smiles and looks excited enough for Bucky to feel that way too. “I’ve made a prototype. One that should be able to function and attach without any procedures needed.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raise, stiffness in his hand momentarily forgotten. “That’s possible?” He can’t remember what getting the first arm was like, but he knows it was painful. 

Shuri doesn’t seem to mind the disbelief in his tone, but Bucky makes sure to try and school his features anyways. “In my lab, anything is possible.” She tosses a braid over her shoulder, smile dropping so her expression can return to being businesslike. “To respect your wishes about waiting for a permanent prosthetic, my offer is that this one can remain temporary. You can, as one would say- take it on a test drive to see how much you like it.”

The offer is so overwhelming that Bucky doesn’t know what to say- he doesn’t even know what to _feel_ right now. What to think. “Your highness…”

She ignores the honorific and goes on. “The initial timeframe would be over the span of a week. The arm can be detached at any time. No one will be insulted if that ends up being your desire.” Then, fixing him with a meaningful look, “ _I’ll_ only be insulted if you try and prioritize my feelings over my work- failure is inevitable in this field, and I’d rather _find_ the fault than miss it because a man was trying to be _nice_.” The words are a warning, one Bucky definitely needed to hear. Those are the exact excuses he could see himself making. 

He swallows and nods a bit numbly. The science here is always a bit surreal, but this... “Can I have a minute to think?”

Shuri is back to smiling again. “Take all the time you need, Sergeant Barnes. I’ll be in the next room over for the rest of the afternoon. Anything you decide can be taken care of before the end of the day.” She walks off after that, and Bucky finds himself alone once again. 

_Jesus._ He takes in a deep breath. He still doesn’t know what to think, and part of him wants to go running upstairs right back to Steve- but the other parts of him, those that have healed, know that this is a decision he needs to make for himself. Maybe _by_ himself. 

Bracing his hand behind him to push up off the table he’s leaning against, he thinks about going to the gardens to clear his head a bit. Hopefully the fresh air will help. 

He makes it out into the hallway before the realization hits him and he has to stop in his tracks. He can’t go to the gardens, not with what he’s got on his feet. _Fuck,_ If he wants to go outside, he’ll have to go all the way back upstairs just for his boots and his boyfriend’s help to tie them. He can’t even take a _walk_ without help like this, can he? Christ. 

It’s only a minor inconvenience in the big picture, but it’s that last little bit that gets him close enough to the edge for him to make a snap decision about something he _maybe_ should be putting more thought into. But, he reasons, Shuri said he has the option to opt out at any time. And why should Steve complain about Bucky being able to hold him with both arms again? He’ll probably be happier. Bucky hopes he can say the same for himself. 

Shuri doesn’t look too shocked to see him back in her lab so soon, despite the fact it’s only been about fifteen minutes since she ditched him. “Do you have a question or an answer for me, Sergeant Barnes?”

“ _Bucky_ ,” he corrects. “I haven’t been a military man for a long time.” Then, tucking his hand across his front and feeling ridiculous for needing to muster his courage to speak to a teenager- albeit one far smarter than him- “My answer is yes. I… I would like to try it out.”

Her eyes light up, already rushing over to the side where Bucky can see a sleek black case, lined with a cushion of what looks like soft grey silt when it flips open. Cradled to sit inside it...

“I’m assuming you mean the arm,” her voice lilts in amusement even as Bucky’s jaw drops in what can only be called _amazement_. “It’s only a prototype, so not perfect, but I think it’s good enough for a start, don’t you?”

_Good enough_ is a gross understatement, if looks are anything to go off of. 

The arm itself is the same sleek black as the case with plating pretty similar to the silver appendage Bucky had previously been sporting- but the similarities end there. Each line where the metal overlaps is lined with a gold that glitters in the lights of the lab. It’s gorgeous without being gaudy, and so subtly beautiful that Bucky suddenly feels like his breath has been taken away. The arm he’d had as the Asset was nothing more than a weapon, the star on it a brand to make sure his victims knew to whom he belonged. This arm… on him it will inevitably still be a weapon, but at first glance, it looks more like art. 

He clears his throat and hurries to answer in case he’d just got caught up in his own head again. Time is a hard thing to keep track of now that he’s experiencing it linearly. “Pretty high step up from Hydra tech.”

Shuri scoffs and shoves a bit at his shoulder. He only starts a little, still not used to anyone touching him now besides Steve, but he doesn’t mind much. She always means well, even when she’s scolding him. “We’re civilized here in Wakanda, thank you very much. I would hope century old Soviet tech is nothing like mine.”

He laughs, only a little bit strained. “I’m sure it isn’t.” He goes for a joke just to try and lighten things up, mostly on his own end. “I have no doubts that what you do here is a hell of a lot better than even what Tony Stark tinkers with.”

She makes the face that he’s fighting to hold back. They both know the battle with him is what landed Bucky here in the first place. “Again, no competition, but I’ll take the compliment. Now are you going to let me attach this arm or what?”

It’s his last chance to back out, but he has no hesitation. He’s made his choice today. He nods and allows her to lead the way across her lab, pulling the prototype along behind them on the cart that carries it. “Let’s do this.”

If anything, it’ll at least be nice to wear shoes that have laces. 

-

Steve, for one, almost trips over his own feet the second he sees Bucky return from his trip down to Shuri’s lab. Admittedly, the appointment had only been scheduled to take sixty minutes, and attaching the arm drug it on about an extra hour and a half plus how what time it took for Bucky to begin and test it out- but that’s not what has Steve up in a tizzy, Bucky doesn’t think. 

That would have to be because of the arm. His eyes bolt to it as soon as Bucky steps in through the door, and he whirls around his body so fast that he stumbles off the stool he was on and almost drops the book it looks like he was trying to return to its shelf. Bucky’s right by his side in a beat, shiny blue-black arm reaching out catching him around the waist. 

Steve inhales at the smooth feeling of metal on skin, softened by the fabric of his shirt. Bucky has caught him at least a dozen times like this before this from fainting spells, so the position is familiar even while the new prosthetic isn’t.

Bucky tries for a smile and a tease to help ease the shock. “Notice anything different, darling?” He plays up the pet name and his tone in hopes that Steve will let out a laugh. 

He doesn’t. Instead, he reaches out and touches where Bucky’s shirt sleeve now covers a second shoulder. “Buck…. what?” he says, breathless and unsure. “You- what? When? Where?” His eyebrows furrow. “ _Why_?”

“You forgot ‘how’,” Bucky tells him, tipping him back up straight so he can step away and scoot the stool back in place with his foot, a feat he couldn’t have managed when he was so off balance. “‘Who’, too, I’m pretty sure.”

Steve still seems to be at a loss, and for all that Bucky’s still feeling anxious about showing him the aem, he can’t help but notice Steve’s cute when he’s confused, too. “Are you going to answer any of them?” he asks, shifting so that he can watch Bucky slip off his shoes and go to sit on the bed behind them. 

Bucky takes the opportunity to tick off said answers on the tips of his newly functional vibranium fingers. “The _who_ would be Princess Shuri,” he lists, light catching on gold as he goes down it. “The _what_ I suppose must be the arm, _when_ would be this afternoon, _where_ would be down in the lab like always, _how_ would be because Shuri’s fucking amazing, and _why-_ well, what’s to answer about that?” He shrugs both shoulders. “Pretty obvious.”

Coming over to the bed and climbing up on it himself to sit at the other end, legs criss crossed and eyes studying Bucky intently, Steve frowns. “You just said you didn’t want to attach a new prosthetic last week.”

“A _permanent_ one,” Bucky corrects. He twiddles his thumbs and reaches the hand out for Steve to take in his own. “This one is temporary, no attachment procedure needed. I can take it off whenever I want. Perks of Shuri creating such advanced experimental tech.”

The artist in Steve seems enamored with the arm. The _boyfriend_ in him seems a bit exasperated, but not enough to protest when Bucky uses the hand he’s holding to pull him forward until they’re both laying down properly with their intertwined fingers resting on Bucky’s chest. Steve’s silent for a moment, watching Bucky play with his hand and taking in a deep breath before speaking. “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to make the choice,” he says quietly. “But you could’ve talked to me about it too, if you wanted.” The sounds wary of the idea that Bucky wouldn’t have. 

Well, that isn’t the case at all. Bucky is quick to tell him as much, flesh hand fitting in his hair to card through gently. “I didn’t know the offer was on the table until today. I thought it was an all or nothing type deal, but that damn kid is just full of surprises.” 

Steve’s seen Shuri in action. He knows that’s true. “How long do you want it on this time?”

Bucky hums and strokes though his hair again, a bit sad he still can’t feel the softness were he doing this with the other hand, but satisfied that he can see his fingers laced in between Steve’s again in the first place. “Only a week for now. Then we’ll see.” 

Sighing, Steve is silent for another long moment that’s broken by him taking Bucky’s new hand in both of his own and holding it up to his face so that cool metal is held smooth against his cheek. “You like it so far?”

It’s with a snort that Bucky wiggles his fingers to tap against Steve’s face, an odd feeling of elation at such a simple gesture rising up in his throat. He has to clear it before he can speak. “I think it’s pretty neat.”

“It _is_ pretty,” Steve admits, rolling his eyes when Bucky grins. He knew Steve would appreciate it. Ever since he’s started to sketch again, almost everything artistic seems to catch his eye. Personally, Bucky’s own eyes have been caught as well, and to keep up with that- 

He catches Steve’s ankle by hooking a foot underneath, using the leverage to flip over (a little less than gracefully, but hey, it’s been a while since he’s exercised such skill) until he’s got both arms braced around Steve’s body and is hovering over top, thigh between his legs with the blonde looking up at him from underneath. 

Steve blinks, and his lashes look so long in the light that Bucky can’t help but lean in for a quiet kiss, next words murmured against his mouth. “But not prettier than you.”

Steve smiles, and that catches the light too. “Prove it,” he whispers.

For the first time in a long time, Bucky takes Steve’s face in both hands, and sets about making sure that he does. 

-

They’re in the garden rather than an alley the next time Bucky does it again. He’s barely two days into his test trial with the arm, but already is falling back into some of the habits he’d had before the war with almost no hesitation. He’s not the same boy Steve had grown up with or the man he’d had by his side in the war, not by a longshot, but he’s _Bucky_ . He has been since the first time since Steve said his name, but it’s only recently that he finally thinks he really _feels_ like it. 

Steve’s still busy admiring the flowers at the moment, the two of them having made their way to a part of the grounds that they don’t often frequent. 

_Flame lilies_ , Bucky thinks they’re called, right as he’s crouching down to tie Steve’s sneaker where the laces have slipped loose on the ground. It’s still so second nature that he almost doesn’t realize he’s doing it until he hears a startled sound and looks up to see Steve staring at him with big eyes from above. 

“Buck,” Steve says, like he’s doing something shocking. 

Bucky just finishes the job and sticks his hand into the back pocket of Steve’s jeans once he stands back up. He doesn’t offer an explanation besides a casual shrug. What else is there to say? He can finally tie his own shoes again. Why not Steve’s while he’s at it? “Shuri told me about a waterfall on the west side of the palace. There’s a trail somewhere, apparently. Wanna go take a look before the light goes?”

Steve’s still got that little furrow between his brows that Bucky always wants to smooth out with his thumb, but he nods nonetheless and lets Bucky lead him back towards the gates. “Yeah, Buck. That sounds perfect.”

Everything with Steve by his side is, really. Even when three days and about ten shoe-tying incidents later, Steve finally starts to put up the same struggle Bucky’s been hearing since 1934. Bucky’s sort of used to that by now, though. He wouldn’t be in love with Steve like he is if he weren’t. 

A dose of super serum doesn’t stop the blonde from being just as scrappy, especially when something is getting under his skin. Case and point, the crossed arms and scowl he’s sporting as of now with Bucky crouched in front of him yet again. They’re supposed to be going on a hike out in the countryside, but Bucky had wanted to change clothes and grab some lunch to take out with them after his morning appointments, so they’re still in their quarters instead. 

They’re almost ready to go. Or they were, until Steve shoved his sneakers on without stopping to tighten the laces (impatient as always), and Bucky had taken it upon himself to do it for him. Now Steve is frowning, even as Bucky picks up the bag holding their food and gestures out a go ahead to go out the door. He doesn’t move. Bucky doesn’t have to wait long to stop wondering why, because it looks like this time, Steve finally has something to say. 

“You don’t have to do this anymore, Buck,” he complains, watching as Bucky pulls out a bottle of water from their pack and uses his prosthetic to take a swig. He doesn’t look _unhappy_ , though his eyebrows are still scrunched up. Contemplative, maybe. “My back hasn’t been bad since 1943.”

Bucky just shrugs, still relieved to be able to do so with both shoulders, even if one _is_ a bit heavier than the other. More than just physically. “Maybe I forgot. I’m old, remember?” Then, before Steve can protest more, “Let’s head out.” He smirks and jams his thumb over his shoulder when he starts backing out the door, exaggerating his voice as he goes. “Take a _hike,_ man.”

Steve makes a face at the ribbing, but doesn’t respond past rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and nodding while he follows him out towards the stairwell they’ve been taking since they got here. It’s funny, getting so used to living here, enough for them to have habits that don’t just center around themselves. It isn’t home, but it’s close enough if they have each other, Bucky guesses.

Besides, home- Brooklyn- might be beautiful, but it damn well can’t beat how beautiful Wakanda becomes with a single drop of light. It’s gorgeous here, and sometimes Bucky still doesn’t know how he got lucky enough to be let in (even under some admittedly _unlucky_ circumstances) but he’s infinitely grateful to T’Challa and everyone else he’s met here for the fact that he was. It’s amazing, for more than just it’s tech, though while shouldering his bag on the left side of his back, Bucky’s pretty amazed by all that too. 

He has a ball cap on, so he can’t blame the sun shining in his eyes for the reason that they start watering while he and Steve make their way down to the road that will take them to the bus stop for their destination. He can’t blame anything really, except for himself. 

This week has been physically easier than any other he’s had since waking up, but getting the arm hasn’t come without an impact. His _physical_ therapist isn’t the only one that’s noticed a difference, though Bucky might argue this last week has come with more _ups_ than downs. 

There’s still been downs, though. Bucky kicks at the dirt with his boot and tries not to let Steve see that anything’s bothering him. His brain does this, sometimes. Takes the worst parts of what’s in it and brings it up unprompted. 

Getting the prosthetic wasn’t painful, but as much as it’s balanced his body out- it’s a bit of a burden as well. Bucky’s known a lot of those. Growing up in the Great Depression, constantly fighting other men’s wars, being made into a _weapon_ and wielded by Nazis like his worst nightmare came to life- it’s been a lot. What he and Steve have been through always has. Still, Steve came out the other side seemingly mostly unscathed in the bodily sense. Bucky very obviously did not. 

His body was a weapon for so long. _Seventy years._ Realistically he knows that it still maybe is, since the serum he was stuck with made him so strong, but the arm, like the star emblazoned on it- that was the real symbol of his torture, he thinks. That damn silver arm. Stark ripping it off had hurt like hell, but even then, some hysterical part of him had been equal parts happy and horrified it was gone. He hadn’t had to live without it for such a long time. The idea of learning how _now_ when he finally has Steve around to keep safe again after almost goddamn _killing_ him a few years back- well, that’s a lot too. 

And in truth, it’s not just the Hydra arm that’s made him worry he’s nothing but a weapon.

It’s not until they’re nestled together close on the same seat of the bus- damn public transport is still cramped even on a different continent- that Steve seems to notice something is wrong. He lowers his head and looks sideways at Bucky through his lashes. He must think he’s being subtle, but that’s something Steve never is. He’d be an _awful_ spy, Bucky hates to tell him. 

He doesn’t right now, opting for a kiss pressed to his forehead instead to sidetrack him with how shy the PDA always gets him, even on a half empty bus. “Close as a day out to Coney Island as we’re gonna get here, huh?”

Steve smiles and stretches up to put his right arm around the back of their seat. Bucky almost does the same with his left, but suddenly doesn’t feel like lifting it. “Probably better. Air definitely isn’t as harsh. Perks of no pollution, I guess.” He takes in a deep breath, like he’s still marveled by the fact his lungs work as well as they do. 

He most likely is. Bucky may have been learning how to work with one arm, but Steve’s only had the serum for six years. There’s probably parts of himself Steve’s still getting used to as well. That makes Bucky feel a _bit_ better. 

He leans their heads together and watches the scenery roll past outside the window. They’re almost where they need to be. They don’t speak again until the bus rolls to a stop. Bucky’s the first to get up, having taken the aisle seat to avoid feeling trapped in. He holds his flesh hand out for Steve to take, grunting when Steve accepts the offer to be pulled up gratefully. Christ, he’s heavier than he looks, even if Bucky can still push him around. 

He does just that now, herding Steve off the bus with the same hand he used to help him up pressed gently against the small of his back and over top the green t-shirt he’d chosen for today's excursion. Bucky likes it, personally. The color brings out that bit in his eyes. 

They’re still bluer than anything when he blinks and starts looking around where the driver dropped them off for the marker that will show them where to start. When he spots the rock that functions as the trailhead, his own head wrinkles. “You sure I’m dressed right for this?” He’s in the aforementioned t-shirt, nylon track pants, and his ever beloved Nikes that are beginning to grow a little beat up with all the walks they’ve been going on. 

Bucky raises his eyebrows right back at him. “How should I know? I’m as much of a city boy as you, sweetheart.” Then, grinning in preparation for the line he already knows is going to get Steve to groan, “Don’t worry. If you get tired of walking, I’ll carry you out, how about that?”

The expected groan comes with a flash of green as Steve starts marching towards the marker with a newfound determination. “You let me take you up on that offer and your back will be as bad as mine was.”

Bucky snorts and starts on the trail behind him. “That’d be a pretty hard standard to beat unless I suddenly develop scoliosis.”

Steve twists his head just to turn and make sure Bucky catches his scowl. “You’re a jerk.”

“Brave thing to say to a man who packed your lunch.”

“See if I eat it if you don’t stop teasing.”

-

Steve does end up eating the sandwich Bucky brought for him even though the teasing doesn’t let up. Like he isn’t used to it by now- Steve’s the stubborn one, and Bucky might be a little quieter nowadays, but that doesn’t ever stop him from ever running his mouth where the other man is concerned. It’s a habit, by now. Bucky doesn’t want to break what little of those he has left. 

He supposes that’s what leads to him fiddling with Steve’s shoes for the second time today. They aren’t even walking this time, rather sitting on a flat slab of rock that overlooks all that they’ve just spent the past hour hiking up. The sun is shining, everything around them shimmering with enough heat for Bucky to feel for once like he’ll never be cold again. It’s beautiful, just like he said. 

Steve is beautiful too, laying on his back next to him with both eyes closed and his hands resting on his chest. The light is hitting his face and he looks so bright Bucky almost can’t look. He still does, though. He always will. He looks him over from head to toe, in fact, and that’s what leads him to spotting it- the laces on Steve’s left shoe, apparently having untied somewhere somewhere along the trail. 

Steve doesn’t appear to be awake past a lazy doze, so Bucky’s not hesitant to lean over and fix them for him, laces pinched between the fingers of his flesh hand and prosthetic. He’s careful about it, not wanting to pop the bubble of peace Steve seems to be floating in, but come to find a moment later, his efforts are in vain. 

His eyes don’t open when he speaks. “Buck, why do you keep doing that?” The question is asked quietly. This time, it doesn’t sound like a complaint or even a protest. It sounds like Steve is trying to solve a problem. 

That makes Bucky stop, frowning at the other man, mind forming questions of its own. Particularly, “What?”

Steve does open his eyes now, still not sitting up, but giving Bucky a sideways glance where he’s sat beside him. He raises his foot, the one with the shoe Bucky just fixed, and taps it down gently so Bucky knows exactly what he’s referring to, even if he still isn’t sure _why_. “I don’t mind,” he says, voice still soft. Then, at Bucky’s skeptical look, he corrects himself. “Not _really._ I just don’t understand, I guess.”

“What’s to understand?” Bucky tries to shrug it off, but Steve still doesn’t seem to want to let it go. Bucky knows this has been building up for the last week, but he wasn’t actually expecting to have to explain. He’s not even sure he _can_ without cutting too deep into stuff he doesn’t like to speak about outside of sessions. “Feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”

There’s a scrabbling sound as Steve pushes up to sit in the same position as Bucky. He’s not frowning, but the furrow is back between his brows once again. “That was back when I needed it and didn’t want to admit it,” he says, squaring his shoulders. It’s _still_ hard for him to admit he ever needed that help. “But now…”

There’s a long stretch of silence that Bucky spends trying to search for an answer that won’t dig too deep. Steve _does_ deserve one, he just...

“What, you trying to say you don’t need me anymore?” he tries to joke, just to cut through the quiet. Steve doesn’t laugh. Bucky sobers up and goes on with a response that’s more genuine, although it makes his throat start to hurt. “I don’t know, Stevie. I do a lot of things these days that don’t make sense. Stuff didn’t make sense to _me_ for a long time.” He shrugs. “Man with no memories… some things came back sooner than others. Helps me to focus on what I got back first sometimes, I guess.”

Steve doesn’t say anything to interrupt him, just nods and leans against his shoulder- the soft one- like he’s trying to let him know he’s both on and by his side. 

Bucky swallows and puts his arm around him to ground himself. This isn’t triggering, but it can still be tough to get through. He goes on anyways. “Sounds dumb, but it’s the small stuff that helps me feel safe. Helps me feel like I’m keeping _you_ safe, even though I know you can fight for yourself now.” He smiles slightly and squeezes Steve closer. “You’ve fought for _me_ plenty too, at this point.”

“For each other,” Steve says softly, squeezing back. 

Bucky nods, Steve’s hair against his neck where it feels like his heart is hiding inside. “Know I don’t have to do the same stuff as I did back then, but I… I couldn’t take care of anyone for a long time, not even myself. Means something that I’m able to now. Now that I can again.”

There’s silence again, but it’s one filled with acceptance. Or at least, that’s what Bucky thinks it is, but a moment later Steve is speaking again, so maybe not. “You know you don’t need two arms to take care of me right?” The fingers of the second arm Steve is obviously referring to twitch, and Bucky has to fight to keep them still as Steve continues. “You take care of me just by being here, Buck.” He pauses for a beat, but then, speaking plainly, “If its the sex you’re worried about, I’m plenty satisfied with what we were doing when you only had one arm. You could have _no_ arms and I’d still be okay.”

“Jesus, Steve.” Bucky blows out a taken aback breath. Serious talk is the only time Steve can seem to talk about sex without blushing beet red. Even now, he’s avoiding Bucky’s eyes. “It’s not the sex. I know that felt great. I was there too, remember? Felt pretty involved.” 

While it’s true having sex with only one hand available to work with is a lot harder than it is with two, it’s also true they’d made it work. They’d waited a month before trying (Bucky’d missed his birthday when he was under- he had to make it up to him somehow), but they’d managed, and sex with the new arm is different, but not necessarily _better_. Different, definitely. Easier, maybe, but that’s how most things with it are. Steve’s seemed satisfied either way, but it’s nice to hear it with the insecurities Bucky’s been having lately. Since Siberia. 

Still, that’s not the leading factor Bucky’s facing when it comes to the question of whether he wants to keep the arm or not. “I know it’s not necessary, but it’s _nice._ ” He means that, for the most part. 

“You’ve been having nightmares about it.” Steve doesn’t wait this time. This time, he rushes. “I’ve woken up to you clutching it in your sleep. Fingers twitching like you’re holding a gun, you groaning like it’s hurting you something awful-“ He suddenly looks guilty. “I wasn’t gonna say anything, Buck, I swear. It’s your choice whether to keep it or not. But I know you’re not as happy with it as you’ve been trying to let on, and part of me is worried you’re wanting to keep it partly because of _me._ ”

Bucky has to collect himself for a moment before he can find it in him to croak out an answer- he’s been having nightmares? Keeping Steve from sleep? He knew he’d been dreaming about being turned into the same kind of weapon he’d been before, but he didn’t… “I didn’t know that I was doing that. I’m sorry,” he mutters, scrubbing over his face. 

Steve sighs and nudges their knees together. “You don’t gotta be. Guys like us don’t get to choose what we get stuck seeing at night.” He’s had nightmares of his own, Bucky knows. 

“It’s not physical pain. I wouldn’t be putting that off.” Bucky flexes his flesh hand around Steve’s bicep, fingertips against soft skin. “I don’t know. It’s just brain stuff I’ve been trying to push through.” He shrugs. “Maybe for the wrong reasons, but I’ve done things for worse.”

“Do you _want_ to keep the arm?” Steve’s words are quiet enough to be a whisper. He lifts his head and casts Bucky a look that craves honestly. “Do you _want_ to or do you feel like you have to?”

Bucky looks down at where his prosthetic is curled into a fist, and then up at the landscape laid out in front of them. “I _want_ to be able to function without feeling like a fucking burden,” he finally says, maybe a bit bitterly. “I have to feel like I can help, Steve. You should understand that better than anyone.”

“I do.” And Steve does. Every day he was small he’d lived like what Bucky is saying. 

“I feel like a leech off of everyone. You’re all being too good to me after what messes I’ve gotten you all. You gave up your entire _life_ to be here with me, everything you built, your team. The family you could have had. Your friends got fucked over too.” He blinks hard and has to look away from the light setting over the sky. “I’m using up every resource Wakanda has when I’m not even _one_ of them. I’m a refugee, but it feels like I’m treating this place like a resort.”

“I want to be here,” Steve’s voice is thick too. “T’Challa _asked_ you to come. He wants you to be comfortable. My friends fought for us _and themselves_ of their own free will.”

“That might all be true, but everyone would be better off if I wasn’t such a burden. I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Steve.” He’d said that before to Steve when they were on the quinjet to Siberia. He doesn’t mean it any less now.

Steve’s answer is the same, even if it comes out a bit softer now that he’s not being Captain America. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. We’ll be okay.” He kisses his shoulder and keeps his head down. Bucky doesn’t ask why. His own eyes are wet enough to not have to wonder. “You’ve always taken care of me, Buck. Two arms doesn’t make a difference, and tying my damn shoes doesn’t either.” He’s got his arms wrapped around him too now, one arm up against his chest with a hand clutched on his neck. “You loved me too much to let me hurt when I didn’t have to. Don’t you know that I love you the same?”

“Oh, baby,” Bucky’s hugging both arms around him, holding him close. “Sweetheart…”

“I don’t mind helping you dress or shave- I’ll even shine your goddamn arm ‘stead of your shoes if you want me to.” He gives Bucky a watery smile when he comes up to kiss him. “But I draw the line at helping you wipe, I’m sorry to say.”

Bucky laughs out loud at that, kicking at Steve’s foot with his own. “I changed your bedpans at least a dozen times when you were sick, punk.” 

“Sounds like a personal problem.”

They both take a bit of time to think- or at least, Bucky is thinking, mostly about what he wants to say next. They picked a pretty good spot for all this, at least. The hill they’re on isn’t a mountain, but it might as well be with the view. 

Bucky’s still looking out at it when he finally musters up the courage to answer Steve’s question. “I don’t want to keep the arm. Not right now.”

“No one will think any less of you for it,” Steve murmurs. He’s looking out too, lashes lit up gold when Bucky glances over. “Just because you have to do a little learning again…”

Taking a deep breath, Bucky ventures on further onto a topic they haven’t yet touched on. “I know we can’t leave here yet with all that’s waiting outside if we do. I don’t _want_ to. But….” He swallows and braces himself to continue. “Living in the palace, in the lab- my surroundings have me sheltered up there sometimes. I need to learn how to function in the real world too, and I’m not doing that by taking the easy out.” He holds up his hand when Steve tries to speak. He’s not done yet. “I know it’s only been a few weeks. I _know._ But I’m tired of leaving you stuck up in that room alone all the time. I’m tired of taking from everyone and not doing anything to give back.”

“You’re healing,” Steve says, almost impossibly gentle for a man of his size and stubbornness. 

Bucky nods. “Like I said. The easy out.” He gestures out to the farmland and fields down below them. “I don’t want to be some Wakandan charity waste case. I want to _help_. What good is learning how to live if I never put it into practice? Prosthetic or not… Stevie, I need to know how to have a new normal. You deserve to have that too.” He shifts to press a soft kiss to his hair. “I’m not the only one with healing to do.” 

“What are you saying, Buck?” 

He kicks at a pebble down between their feet and focuses on that for a moment in order to ground himself enough to give an answer. “When I give the arm up, I want to ask T’Challa if I can move out here for a while instead. All these walks have had me thinking.” He smiles at him, a bit hesitant. “You’re more than welcome to come with on this one too.”

Steve looks at him, surprise streaked across his face. Bucky can see the sunburn already setting in, and he can’t help but hope this will bring out some freckles. “You want…. a farm?”

Bucky shrugs. It does sound a bit odd, but no odder than their circumstances ever are. “I’m old. Maybe it’s time to put me out to pasture.” The line is said lightly, but his next words are a bit more serious. “I want to give back. I want to grow. The arm hasn’t done much help accomplish that.” He clenches his jaw while he considers what else to say. “I think it’s time for me to take care of that myself.”

“Always taking care of things, aren’t you?” Steve murmurs. He leans his head back down on Bucky’s shoulder. “Still trying to take care of me even when I can do it myself.”

“I know you can,” Bucky whispers, just like he had decades ago after Steve snapped at him thay first time in the alley. “I just feel like doing it myself is all.” The memory settles over them both like a blanket. Bucky tacks on an addition at the end. “Just because you can do it doesn’t mean I can’t do it too. Teamwork, remember? We’re a team, aren’t we?”

“Always have been,” Steve answers, hand tightening where it’s still halfway hugged around Bucky’s waist. “But you better know that all that _taking care_ jazz goes for you too.”

“It’s for both of us,” Bucky says, because it is. They’ve always known it, even when Steve would have balked at the suggestion.They don’t speak for a few seconds, simply soaking all that’s been said in, but eventually Bucky can’t help but break the quiet with a question. “So is that a yes to the farm idea?” He grins down at Steve, already going back to being a tease. “You gonna be my farmhand?” He gently pops him on one the jaw with his prosthetic just to sink in the joke. “Emphasis on the _hand_. I could use an extra, you know.”

“You want me to live on a farm, you better be financing the equipment,” Steve grumps, knocking Bucky’s hand away. It isn’t a no. It sounds like a _yes_. Bucky counts it as a win. “My Nikes aren’t exactly what I imagine needs to be worn while working.”

Bucky bumps their feet together one last time. “I’ll get you some boots like mine, how about that?” 

“What, you want us to match?” Steve mockingly wrinkles his nose. “Can I at least get them in brown?”

Snorting, Bucky kisses his temple. “Whatever color you want, honey.” Then, because he’s an asshole, “Buckles, laces, or velcro?” He gives him a crooked smile when Steve cranes his neck up enough to narrow his eyes at him. “Hey, there’s a wide variety these days.”

Steve socks him on the arm, but answers a moment later. “Laces.” Soon enough, he’s smiling too. “I like it when you tie my shoes.” Bucky raises his eyebrows as if to say _oh really?_ and Steve smacks him again. “ _Sometimes_. And there’s entire articles written on how to do it with one hand. You just step on the lace with one foot and-“

“Yeah?” Bucky interrupts to lean in and kiss him. “I like you sometimes too.” Then, he flicks him in the nose. “Even if you never think to tell me these things until the last moment possible.”

“I only looked it up yesterday!” Steve protests. “You know how to use a computer too, don’t think I haven’t seen you listening in when I Skype with Sam.”

“I have one hand,” Bucky shoots back. “Typing takes forever.”

Steve squints at him like he’s trying to figure out whether what Bucky’s saying is the truth behind the excuse (it isn’t). After a moment, he huffs and shakes his head. “You’re a real jerk, Buck.”

“Just for you, sweetheart,” Bucky croons. 

“Yeah?” Steve’s trying to hold his smile back, but that half-dimple by his jaw is showing through. 

“Only for you.” For all that Bucky had had to fight to remember, that was one thing that he had always known to be true. Time nor travel has made that see change. Steve rolls his eyes, but lets Bucky hold him closer. “I love you.”

When Steve looks up at him, his eyes don’t linger on the left arm, even when it comes up to cup at his cheek. “I love you back,” he says. He laces their fingers together, pressed up against his face. “Love you big.”

“Love you bigger,” Bucky murmurs. Their mouths meet in a kiss that shuts Steve up from making it a competition in the way Bucky knows the other man most likely wants. Not that it matters. 

The way their hearts are tied together- all the love between them is already big enough. That’s one knot that’ll never come undone. 

**Author's Note:**

> comments & kudos are what keeps the content coming, so feel free to spare what you can! feedback is my favorite. i’m not above begging. as usual, i hope you enjoyed. stay safe & see you next time around. pretty soon if things go to plan!


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